Michael A. Stackpole by A Hero Born

widow. The wall around it hid the ground floor from sight, but trees and ivy vines overhanging it from the inside told me the house had a nice garden. I heard the tinkling of water landing in a pool, so that meant they had a fountain as well. The windows themselves were fitted with glass—much akin to the home of Stone Rapids’s Lord Mayor—but the blue and gold brocade drapes I saw in them were a lot finer than the Mayor had managed.
    Even the stories Aunt Ethelin had told of this house had underestimated its grandeur. 1 turned around and counted one final time. It was the fourth house, but I couldn’t get rid of a sense of dread as I reached out and pulled the clapper cord for the bell beside the gate. It rang loud and strong, like an alarm bell, and I almost ran away because I just knew I had to be in the wrong place.
    I probably would have run, but seconds after the bell’s echoes died, I heard a door open and close. I saw an old man accompanied by two hounds a bit smaller than Cruach come trudging up the crushed-stone carriageway toward the wrought-iron gate. I smiled at the man, but nothing short of a hive’s worth of honey could have sweetened the sour look on his face.
    The man grabbed two of the gate’s iron bars. “And who would you be?”
    “I am Lachlan. 1 have traveled from Stone Rapids to see my grandmother, Evadne, and accompany her to the Emperor’s Ball.” I stood up straight and wished I’d brushed the trail dust from my boots. “She sent for me.”
    “Did she now?” The man scratched at a scraggly beard. “And who was it who sent you?”
    I frowned. “My grandfather, Audin, Bladesmaster of Stone Rapids. He arranged a contest to choose from among my brothers and me for the honor of answering her request.”
    The badges the man wore sewn to his sleeve marked him as a native of Herak and Evadne’s gardener. “So you’re claiming to be one of Cardew’s sons, or are you Driscoll’s whelp?”
    “Cardew, sir.” I answered him fairly, only realizing at the last that he was baiting me.
    “Fifth one this week. Just because she has a good heart, every orphan claims to be Cardew or Driscoll’s bastard.” The man backed away from the gate and waved me off. “Begone with you, or I’ll set the dogs on you. Bear’s Eve is still a week off, so you’ll not be bedeviling my mistress for seasonal beggings today.” He turned and wandered back toward the house.
    Angry and embarrassed, I yanked the clapper cord once, hard, and the sound stopped the man cold. “Herakman, I will remain here and pull this cord once every ten heartbeats if you do not tell your mistress I am here. I am Lachlan, and I am here at her request.”
    “Away, beggar, away! I’ll not be bothering her over the likes of you.” He turned his back on me and muttered to his hounds as he headed back to the house.
    Mad enough to spit fire, I turned and whistled for Stail. The gelding trotted up to me, and I pulled myself into the saddle. Turning the horse around to take one last look at the house before 1 rode out to rejoin the caravan, I saw the man hurrying back toward the gate. The dogs both had run to the gate before him, and I took no joy in their eyeing me with their tails wagging.
    1 assumed he was running to get his dogs, but he held up his hands. “Wait, wait, young Master.”
    I hardly felt the desire, but I kept my voice seasonably cordial. “What is it, Goodman?”
    “I’d know that whistle anywhere, I would, and the hounds did, too. That’s from Audin to your father to you.” The old man squinted at me. “Sure as the sun rises in the east, you’re Cardew’s son.”
    He unlatched the gate and swung it wide open. “Welcome to Herakopolis, Master Lachlan. I trust you will enjoy your stay.”
    5
    T
    he man bade me dismount, which I did, and he took up the reins of my horse. “I will be putting your horse in the charge of the stableboy. Master Lachlan.” He gave me a wink, and the twinkle in his eye told me that